


Affinity

by anonymousgratification



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Pining, Requited Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousgratification/pseuds/anonymousgratification
Summary: Moments throughout the years.





	Affinity

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of vignettes as their relationship transforms. My birthday is in a few days and I wrote this as a present for myself, haha. Consider this a gift from myself: to myself and anyone else who wants to read.  
> Really enjoyed writing this. I hope everyone else gets something good from it, too.  
> ♡  
> 

Damian’s silent in the car, nothing but the resonance of the engine filling the space. He hurriedly changes when they return to the cave, rushing up the stairs.

“Damian.”

“What?” he bites back.

“We should talk about what happened.” Dick follows him up the steps, and Damian doesn’t even look back, continuing at the same pace.

“For what purpose?” 

“If you’re upset—” Damian opens the door to his room and slams it in Dick’s face. Dick doesn’t relent, turning the knob and following him in.

“D—”

“Get out! You can’t just follow me wherever you wish.”

“I can and I will. We _need_ to talk.”

“About what? There’s nothing to say.”

“About what happened. What your mother said.”

“Her futile threats and slander mean nothing to me.”

Dick sighs; difficult as always. 

“We’re going to talk about it.”

“Are you done? This is utterly pointless,” Damian moves away, evading. 

“Damian,” Dick tries to grab his arm, but Damian flinches, glaring up at him. Dick catalogs the reaction; _ok, still no touching._

“Are you ok?”

“Fine. Go away.”

Dick knows Damian’s just a kid, and an extremely vulnerable and damaged one, yet he gets under his skin in such an immense way. He starts to get frustrated, the feeling spilling through.

“Why are you so difficult? I’m just trying to help, and you’re being a fucking pain in my ass.”

“You’re not helping. You’re infuriating.”

“You’re infuriating!” Dick repeats him, swears he sounds more like a child than Damian does. “You’re such a brat! Can’t you just—”

“If you hate me so much, leave me alone!” Damian yells back at him, accidentally disclosing. “I don’t need you!” His voice cracks, and he slouches for a minute then catches himself, pretending he’s unaffected. 

“I’m—” Damian cuts him off, speaking hurried.

“Just tell me if you don’t want me anymore. I can take it,” he argues. Dick sees the tears in his eyes about to fall, but they just stay there, almost as if in his control. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Dick leans down to his level and Damian tilts his body away. “I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“I’d rather know now,” Damian insists, and Dick acknowledges the significance. _Tell me now instead of later. Instead of after I’ve given everything to you, only to find it was misplaced. Tell me before I am abandoned and substituted out again._

“That’s not what this is.” Dick thinks that Damian’s mother's words had to cut in a way he can’t imagine. He wishes he could stitch up the bleeding in his heart, but Damian would rather bleed out or wait for it to coagulate instead of fixing what he can. Dick only heard parts of the conversation, but he feels an ache in his chest remembering it; furious at the fact Damian's own mother said such vicious words. 

“I just want to help. I wish you’d let me. I wish you’d accept the fact that I want to help because I care about you,” Dick tries to touch him again, and Damian doesn’t pull away. He wants to comfort Damian’s forlorn face; twisted in a look he’s never seen before. If he wasn’t heartbroken over the face, Dick thinks it might be jarring; the contrast to his usual composure.

“I want you. I want you to be here.” Damian’s eyes twinkle, and Dick’s not sure if it’s the wetness or the impact of his words, but Damian doesn’t shy away, instead leaning into his touch. “I never didn’t.”

Damian doesn’t respond, but he stares up at him, apprehensive. 

“I always will, ok? No matter what.” 

Damian wants to ask; What if I mess up? What if I do something unforgivable? What if you find someone better? What if one day, you see me for who I really am; the way everyone else does, and hate the sight of it?

But, he doesn’t say anything. He believes Dick for some reason, or maybe it’s because he wants to accept his words as veracious. Damian stares into his eyes, sparkling with something honest and meaningful. He slumps against his body, absorbing his smell and his words, allowing himself to be weak. 

_Just this once._

 

 ♠

 

“If it were me—”

“Well it isn’t. I don’t need you telling me everything you think I’m doing wrong.”

“Someone has to. The rate you’re going now, you’ll die before you solve this case.”

“And what do you recommend?” Dick vilifies. “Actually, I don’t care. Either help or leave.”

“I am helping.”

“Annoying is more like it.” 

“Tt.” Damian scoffs, pretending that he’s not bothered by Dick referring to him in such a way. “I wouldn’t have to be annoying if you—”

Dick groans. “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up.” He hasn’t slept in days, and Damian is _not_ helping. Damian shuts his mouth, ignoring the urge to wince. “I don’t have time for this.”

“When you were Batman—”

“Well, I’m not anymore,” Dick cuts him off. Damian wasn’t going to say anything bad, the opposite in fact, but Grayson just _assumed_. Damian feels defensive, and forces out his diffidence; replacing it with haughtiness. 

“This is exactly why,” Damian crosses his arms. Dick becomes even more vexed, shoving a hand over his face.

“I seriously hate you sometimes. Batman’s not the only thing of importance in the world and neither are you.” Damian recoils emotionally, telling himself that the undertone of his statement doesn’t sting.

“You hate me because I’m right,” Damian defends, persuading himself. 

“No, it’s because you’re arrogant and naive.” Dick pauses. “Just leave.” Damian’s about to say something, but Dick sees the shifting of his mouth and quiets whatever was hanging there.

“Don’t make me say it again.” Damian stands, transfixed for a second. Some pitiful part of his mind wants Dick to continue; to highlight exactly what he dislikes about him so he can change; mending and shaping himself to his liking. Damian hates that train of thought— hates just how much he wants his approval. He swallows, turning and leaving.

 

♠

 

“What is it that _you_ want?” Damian’s silent; completely shocked. How can Grayson ask such a question? But more alarming and prevalent in his mind is: why is Grayson the first person to ask? 

Damian doesn’t know what to say. His life has never been about want. He was told what he was expected to obtain, how he was expected to live, who he was expected to be. Nothing less.

Damian’s been immersed in that feeling for so long—that feeling of responsibility and assignment—and he is not certain what his own desires are. All he can think when presented with this question is someone else’s answer; someone he was told he was to become; someone he was told he is. 

Damian stares back at Dick, astounded. He’s not sure why he wants to know, why he even thought to ask.

“Why do you care?”

“You don’t have to tell me. I just want you to know that what you want is not pointless. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

Grayson doesn’t get it, _of course_. He never will. Damian was groomed; created and bred for a life planned out for him. He doesn’t have a choice. He never did. He never will. It was decided for him.

Damian scoffs before he can stop himself. He ponders if that’s how he really wants to react, or if he’s sure it’s how he's supposed to. 

“Damian, you’re incredible. And _not_ because you were bred that way— not because you’re a Wayne or an al Ghul. But, because you just are.”

Dick concentrates on choosing the right words and assembling them correctly. “All this talk of duty and expectations,” Dick sighs. “The only thing I expect from you is to do what you think is right. I don’t need you to be anything, Damian. I want you to do things because you _want_ to _,_ not because it’s what you’re expected to do.” 

Desire is something Damian doesn’t quite understand. He still can’t distinguish between what he really wants and what he was sure he did— what he was told he should. He wants to panic, or maybe cry, but the feelings are all jumbled together. Why doesn’t he have an answer to a question so simple?

“I…” He starts. Stops. He doesn’t know if he wants to divulge to Grayson, even though he trusts him more than anyone. “I don’t think I’m supposed to want anything.”

Dick frowns, and Damian’s intrigued by the way his face contorts. 

Dick hates his answer. Damian doesn’t even know what he wants besides the words shoved in his mouth; the pictures painted for him by someone else's hands. Damian really doesn’t think he’s _allowed_ , as if he needs permission to live freely. 

“Am I the first to ask you that?” Dick doesn’t want to scare Damian away, but he’s sure he shouldn’t go with what else he’s thinking; desires to break something and hurt everyone who’s harmed the boy in front of him.

Damian thinks. He’s not thinking about the answer—that he already knows. He’s thinking about whether or not he should say it. 

“Yes.”

“Dami.” Dick plays with the hair on the sides of Damian’s head and runs his fingers back through the strands. Damian looks uncomfortable, contempt evident in his eyes. 

“I want you to know you can always tell me what you want.” His hand stills, thumb reaching to his cheek and rubbing lightly. “Anything. And there’s no wrong answer.” 

Dick looks right into his eyes, and Damian feels both penitent and powerful. 

“Ok?” 

“Ok.” 

Damian thinks the only thing he truly wants is to be by Dick’s side forever. He wonders what he’d say to that.

 

♠

 

Dick brings his girlfriend to the manor one afternoon, and Damian can’t explain why, but his skin feels irritated and itchy; like the flesh itself is angry. 

He introduces her, and Damian huffs, leaving the room, trying to find a name for the feeling.

“Jealous?” _Drake._ Damian heats— how dare he think— assume—! 

Damian crosses his arms, scowling at Tim on the couch, papers scattered in front of him. He looks amused, and Damian hates him; hates the fact that he’s in here, of all the rooms in the house, at this very moment.

“What’s there to be jealous about?” he sneers.

“Do you really want me to say it?” Tim leers at him, like he knows something Damian doesn’t; like he’s somehow figured out Damian’s feelings before him. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, as usual,” Damian turns his head, sounding a bit too petulant.

“So, I’m right. It’s almost cute. The baby’s jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” He snarls. “And I’m not a baby.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Unconvinced, skepticism laces his voice, but he plays along. Maybe Damian’s not ready to admit it to himself, just yet. “If you’re not jealous, what’s got you so riled?”

“I’m not,” he denies, and Tim looks at him, his eyes drifting over him incredulously, then turning his head back to the work in front of him. For some reason that bothers Damian, too, and he speaks again.

“I don’t understand. Why have a girlfriend when you can fight crime?”

Tim laughs at that— actually laughs, throwing his head back. Damian feels like he’s on fire, embarrassed by what he said.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.” Tim stands up, making his way to the kitchen. He walks around him, patting his hair.

“Baby,” he taunts, leaning away before Damian can maul him.

Damian stomps away. _He’s not jealous._ If he was jealous, that would mean his affection for Grayson was something that it _isn’t._ Damian fusses inside his head— _He’s not a baby._

Grayson’s just an idiot and that's why it bothers him. He’s too emotional and he’ll get himself killed one of these days, the way he’s vulnerable with people he hardly knows. Damian just doesn’t want that to happen; doesn’t want to suffer because Grayson can’t control his feelings. 

Damian makes his way to his room, shutting the door behind him. He slams himself onto the bed, fuming.

He’s _not_ jealous. 

 

♠

 

They’re trapped; rubble and metal everywhere. It’s dark and silent, and Dick leans back against the wall. 

“Grayson,” Damian voice pierces through the quiet, words coming out that he’s been thinking for weeks.

“Hm?”

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

Dick considers making a joke; _neither of them are going anywhere anytime soon._ But it dies in the tone of Damian’s voice, in the yearning of his words; needing to know and preparing himself for the worst.

Dick knows Damian’s scared. He’s not scared of death or demise, but he’s scared of being replaced and forgotten—of failing and losing everyone because of it. 

Dick knows he’s been unusually distant. He’s been busy and away more. It’s not on purpose, his life has just been hectic; but he feels guilty all the sudden, thinking back to every moment when Damian tried nudging his way in as Dick left no openings.

“No,” he steadies his voice. “No, of course not.”

“If you find my presence bothersome, I can…” Damian drifts off, sighing. Dick feels even worse, because Damian’s not even mad at him, instead assuming that it was something he’s done. Damian speaks again, his voice hushed and intense, landing on something. “I don’t wish you to.”

“I’ve been busy. It’s nothing you’ve done.” Dick feels like that’s a lie, somehow. Damian _hasn’t_ done anything, but his presence makes Dick feel on edge in a way he can’t quite articulate. 

“I won’t leave. Never again. I promise,” Dick means it, but he also feels like he’s revealed something he isn’t ready to admit. 

Damian opens his mouth to respond, but the words fade away as light peers in and covers the dark room; rescue arriving.

 

♠

 

Damian treads up the stairs, needing to escape, but he knows his father will show displeasure if he leaves completely. He’s hates this sort of deception, playing the part of Bruce Wayne’s son; unblemished and intact and _normal_. He clenches his jaw so hard it makes his teeth feel numb.

He exhales, composing himself as he leans against the railing. It feels stuffy down there, like there’s not enough air for all the space it occupies, as if everyone else is taking to large of breaths and Damian can’t get enough.

He hears a laugh he recognizes, one that he detects even with all the scattered noise.

Damian’s eyes settle on Dick, staring down at him. Dick’s jovial and charming; he knows just what to say and just what to do. It’s like he lives for the performance; loves the attention and fraudulent affection everyone throws at him. 

Damian grimaces. 

Dick’s poised and graceful. He’s wearing a suit that’s expensive and fitted, and Damian’s eyes travel along the curves of his body. He’s smiling; his white teeth enchanting, and Damian can’t look away.

Dick makes him feel… irritated. Staring down at him he feels envious, maybe because Dick’s competent in ways he isn’t. Or maybe it’s the way everyone keeps leaning too close and Dick doesn’t seem to mind. 

Damian tries to count the minutes, piece together how long it’ll be until this is over, but his mind can’t stay stationary long enough; foggy and fuzzy and trying to assuage itself from his pent up agitation. 

His eyes stay planted on Dick. One of the women in the group reaches a hand to Dick’s chest, her fingers brushing the material.

Damian hates that for some reason, furrowing his eyebrows. She’s a _harlot_ and Grayson’s a _bastard_ for letting her touch him.

After a minute, Dick fluidly brushes her off, and Damian’s almost impressed by the subtly of the action. 

Dick’s eyes are so blue, shining as his mouth moves. Damian wonders what he’s saying. He watches Dick take a sip of champagne, unable to look away as his lips part and his throat moves. Damian wonders how it feels. 

Dick runs one of his hands through his hair, Damian staring at his hands as they shift. Damian's caught in his spell; bewitched by everything that is Dick Grayson.

_I think I love you._ The thought appears before he can control it, and Damian feels warm, berating himself in his head. 

Damian feels ashamed, for his turbulent thinking. He feels inept and appalled, like he’s glued inside his muddled thoughts; uncertain about his fondness that's festering and developing into something new he can’t decipher. 

Someone stands directly next to him, and Damian turns to the side, Todd appearing in his view. Jason slips him a glass of champagne, his mouth upturning. Damian feels he’s been discovered, but Jason just nudges his shoulder and tilts his head, prompting him to follow. 

Damian brings the flute to his lips and frowns at Dick, following Jason down the stairs.

 

♠

 

Dick gasps, shooting up then blanching, his hand going to his side. 

“Don’t move.” Damian’s voice. Damian. Where is he?

“Where am I?” Dick looks around, determining he’s in the cave. “What happened?”

“You overcompensated. You almost died.”

Dick takes Damian in then; his hand around Dick’s arm, the way his mask is ripped down the side, the bandage on his forearm, the blood over his uniform. Dick looks back down to his wound, deciding it's his blood.

“Dami,” he looks back at him, trying to meet his eyes through the lenses. “Sorry I worried you.”

Damian’s too tired to deny his claims, to scold him or feign annoyance. His anger subsided at the sight of his blood— too much—and now all that’s left is relief that Dick is conscious and alive, directly in front of him. 

“Don’t do it again,” he lowers his head and mumbles against him. He does something unexpected—even to himself— placing his lips over Dick’s arm, where their bodies are intertwined. 

Maybe he’ll regret it tomorrow; maybe he’ll blush and reprimand himself for the uncharacteristic action. But for now, he closes his eyes, finally able to breathe. 

 

♠

 

Dick invites Damian to his apartment after patrol, wearily telling Damian it will be easier than driving back to Gotham. Damian accepts, showering at his place and sinking into his couch. 

Dick sits next to him, and Damian focuses on anything but way he smells; sweet and titillating. Dick leans his head back into the cushions, sighing. 

“Hey,” Dick smiles at him, his freshly washed hair framing his face in a way that shouldn’t be so captivating.

Damian makes a noise, not trusting his voice. Dick turns on the television, but Damian doesn’t know what he’s watching, the faint hum of voices luring his eyes closed. 

He wakes to Dick’s face in front of him, jostling his body.

Damian rubs his eyes, sitting up.

“What?” His voice sounds rough, plated with sleep.

“Come on,” Dick stands up. “You shouldn’t sleep out here.” Damian becomes wide awake at that; tense at the idea of sleeping so close to him, in the solitude of his room. 

“You want me to sleep in your room? With you?” Damian’s thoughts come out unfiltered, and he blames sleep for his disorientation. 

Dick chuckles softly, ruffling his hair. “Don’t sound so excited.”

Damian stares at Dick. The room is dark but light is flitting in from the city outside his window, illuminating his face. Damian thinks he’s dreaming for a moment; in a daze over the way Dick’s face looks exquisite, shadows darting over his cheekbones. 

“But, yes. You’ll sleep better. It’s comfy?” Dick says it like a question.

“You don’t know if it is?”

“It’s definitely better than the couch.” 

Damian grunts, standing up. “Fine,” he inevitably complies. Dick leads him to his room, laying down first. Damian gapes for a moment, thinking the bed is far too small for two people, not allowing himself to contemplate why that’s a problem. 

Damian lays beside him, forcing himself to calm down; to not think about the fact that he’s in Grayson’s apartment with _only_  him, wearing his clothes and laying under his sheets. And Grayson’s just inches away; the one who prompted him. 

“Stay on your side,” he mutters, centering his breathing and shutting his eyes. It’s just Grayson; he reminds himself, but truthfully he hasn’t been _just Grayson_ for years now. 

“Yes sir,” Dick jests, but Damian barely hears it, losing consciousness; feeling secure and exuberant in a perplexing sort of way.

When he wakes up the next morning, he becomes agonizingly aware that Dick’s arm is slung over him. Damian feels hot all over, and tells himself it’s because of the temperature of Dick’s room, not because it feels like he’s burning in the place Dick’s hand is touching his skin, where his shirt has ridden up. Damian hastily gets out of his bed, intending to get away from him as fast as possible. 

Dick stirs, nuzzling into mattress next to him, but it’s empty. He’s groggy from sleep, yet he wonders why it feels so cold; why Damian’s body fit so perfectly in the space next to him, and without him it’s unwelcoming. 

He turns to the other side, ignoring the feeling; ignoring what he’s determined not to think about. 

 

♠

 

Damian’s crying; struggling and sobbing and shoving him away. Dick tries to calm him but feels completely lost. Damian’s stuttering and slurring words, switching from tongue to tongue, the languages melding together and forming incomprehensible words. 

Dick finally gets him in the car, and Damian collapses against the seat, motionless except for his chest heaving.

Dick’s shaking, anxious and disturbed by the sound; Damian sniveling and hyperventilating beside him. Dick attempts to focus on the road, but the noises he keeps making are tormented and miserable, and Dick feels sick imagining what horrible things Damian could be thinking about. 

Damian shouldn’t be crying like this. Dick has never seen him so inconsolable; sobbing and begging in words that don’t make any sense. _This shouldn’t be happening._

He arrives at the cave, abruptly turning off the car and pulling Damian out of it. 

“It’s just me, Dami. I swear. It’s just me,” he tries to comfort him, but to no avail. Dick’s certain Damian doesn’t even know it’s him, doesn’t know where or who he is.

“What happened?” Batman asks from beside him.

“He was drugged. I don’t know what he’s on. He can’t hear me. He keeps mumbling words that make no sense. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know. I don’t…” Dick can hardly form something sensible, his voice coming out fast and anguished.

“Dick. Calm down. We’ll figure it out. He’s safe.”

“I know… I know…” He squeezes his hands around Damian’s shoulder. Damian still has tears pouring down his face, but now they’re silent. 

Bruce helps him with Damian, sitting him down on the medical table. He takes a blood test and works out an antidote. Dick holds Damian’s hand the whole time, Damian crushing his fingers in his grasp, and he’s uncertain if he’s helping or not. 

Damian’s injected with a serum, and he shivers, his breathing regulating. 

“Dami? Can you hear me?” Damian shakes his head, his eyes cloudy, struggling to center on him. 

“Fuck. You’re ok. You’re ok. Everything is ok.” Damian lays down, closing his eyes; exhausted in every single way a person can be. “Damian, I was so worried. I love you so much.” 

Damian grips his wrist, his grasp around it bruising, turning his head.

“Richard,” he says, garbling. “I wouldn't exist without you,” he avows to him, opening his eyes; the greens littered with devotion and fear. He tangles his fingers with Dick’s, and Dick feels unquestionable solace; thinking that Damian’s pink nose and puffy eyes are the most glorious thing he’s ever seen.

Bruce gives a strange look in their direction, but neither of them notice, too engrossed in one another.

 

♠

 

“Damian,” Dick rests his hand along Damian’s nape. "You mean the world to me." Dick kisses him first, trembling at the feeling of his mouth. There's something absolutely angelic about it; holy, the way Damian kisses back. 

Damian tilts his head back, staring up at him with stars in his eyes. 

There are millions of words and combinations on the tip of his tongue. _I love you. I need you. I’m overwhelmed with the depth of my affection. You’re everything to me. It has to be you. You’re the only one who ever was and ever will be capable of doing this to me._

He doesn’t speak, his lips pushing against Dick’s, and Dick understands completely. 

Dick shows him the complexity of his love with his fingers. They run through his hair, stroking, doting. They feel down his body, touching places he never thought he’d be able to. They grab at him needy and impetuous; worried that he may fall out of the moment any second; worried that Damian might drift away under his fingertips. 

He slides his hand between his legs, squeezing and needing and loving, most of all. He paints Damian’s thighs with his tongue and teeth, his fingers prodding and massaging him in a sacred place; somewhere secret permitted only to him. 

He kisses him, along his shoulder blades and his ribs and his hipbones, carving his touch into Damian’s skin; to be left there and remembered forever. 

Damian allows him, neither pushing nor pulling away, his hands keeping him there, holding onto Dick and the bed below him.

Dick pushes into him, holding him closer and closer and closer, until he swears any more and he would be crawling into his skin with him. 

He runs his hands all over his body, leaving ghosts of his fingerprints everywhere. He leans down and captures Damian’s mouth, whispering against it that he’s heavenly; the way he feels and the meaning behind this.

Damian’s body is florid; flushing and flaming like fire is coming off him; all the rage and fear from his heart burning through his skin and leaving only love; pure and raw tenderness all that’s left.

Dick thinks Damian hasn’t been this open and exposed in his entire life, and feels privileged that Damian’s letting him probe inside and really _see_ — see him become empty and full in all the right ways. 

Dick leads, as always, his motions frantic and greedy. He thrusts and drills into him; drowning himself in the sensation. 

Damian unravels under his fingers. He’s broken and beautiful; entangled with his body. He colors his abdomen with his essence and Dick stutters, taking in the sight of it all; Damian’s mouth, riddled with gasps and cries of pleasure, his body spasming. 

Dick collapses over him and onto him, thinking that maybe he does want to crawl inside— feel and know everything about this magnificent person below him. 

 

♠

 

Bruce knocks on Damian’s door. He waits, but hears a noise and no answer so he worries, pushing the door open. He stills in the doorway, his mind freezing over.

Dick’s in here, and at first he wants to greet them both, but the sight of them quickly converts into something he never expected. 

Dick’s sprawled over Damian on the mattress and their mouths are up against each other. 

Bruce stares, stunned. _His Damian. His Dick._ He stands there, becomes enlightened to the reality of Dick’s hand shoved down Damian’s slacks. Dick pulls away, his lips moving to Damian’s neck, and Bruce clears his throat. They both turn their heads in his direction, startled; surprise overtaking their faces.

“Father,” Damian wheezes, reddening. Dick tries to brush it off, lifting the hand that isn’t in Damian’s pants and waving at him.

“Hey, B…” His facade fades, Dick discerning that there really is no simple way out of this situation.

Bruce straightens himself, whatever he came in for lost in the shock of the scenario.

“I’ll… come back,” he forces out, turning swiftly and shutting the door.

Damian covers his face with his hands, cursing. Dick removes his hands from Damian and sits up.

“Maybe we should’ve waited?” he jokes, trying to make light of it.

“Shut up, Richard.” Damian groans. Dick zips Damian’s pants back up for him, buttoning them and redoing his belt. The action is intimate and personal, and Damian feels himself get more embarrassed. 

He climbs off the bed, standing up and staring down at Dick. Damian clumsily tries to tuck his shirt back in under his slacks. Dick crawls to the side, following him.

Damian stops fumbling with his clothing and Dick wraps his arms around him. “Dami.”

“Yes?”

“Sorry.”

“What for?”

“That your dad just walked in.”

“Me too,” Damian grumbles, lifting a hand to Dick. He pushes his hair out of his face and holds it there.

“This changes nothing,” Dick contends. “I still love you just as much as I did before Batman caught me with my hands down your pants.”

“That’s not funny,” Damian asserts. The sides of his lips rise, and he tuts to stop it. “It’s not funny.”

Dick giggles, a little hysterical over the bizarreness of their lives. “You’re right,” he changes his mind. “But… maybe it is a little.”

Damian snickers, and Dick adores the sound, even if suppressed. He smiles down at Dick, amused, then it turns loving. Damian looks breathtaking, his teeth appearing; his whole face gleaming.

Dick nuzzles his head into Damian’s stomach, cradling him. He swears he’s never felt this way before; hopelessly in love and mesmerized by one single person. 

“You’re perfect,” he muffles the words against Damian’s shirt, and if Damian he hears it he doesn’t respond.

Damian places his hands on his shoulders, leaning away. He puts a knee on the bed in between Dick legs and gives him a fleeting kiss. Dick’s not at all satisfied, yanking him back and kissing him again, subsequently kissing down his cheek and jaw. 

Damian pulls back, standing up again.

“I should go talk to father. Stay here.”

“Whatever you wish, my prince,” Dick simpers. He tugs himself back onto the bed, exhaling. This just another adds another lay of intricacy to their already involuted relationship. Some part of him was hoping that Bruce would never find out, but he knows that isn't possible.

Damian finds his father in the study.

“Father,” he adresses.

“Damian,” Bruce responds, looking slightly unbalanced. Damian tries to talk, but his father beats him to it. 

“Was that the first time?” 

“No.”

Bruce sighs. How long has this been going on, without him realizing it? “How long?”

Damian lifts his shoulder, shrugging.

“Is it serious?”

“His hand was in my pants, father. How much more serious could it be?”

Bruce wants to laugh, either at Damian’s snarky comment or the ridiculous content within it. He doesn’t let himself, thinking if he starts he’ll never stop.

“How did this happen?” He doesn’t know if he’s asking Damian or himself. “Why Dick?” _Why Damian?_ His brain echoes.

“Father,” Damian starts, his eyes glimmering with something he’s never seen before. “I love him,” he confesses.

“And he… loves me.” Damian turns his head away bashfully.

“I’m not ok with this. But,” he thinks. But? _But_ , Bruce never thought he’d hear Damian refer to anyone in such a way. He feels a weird type of pride, but everything else he’s unsure about. “I’m not angry.” It’s a half-truth. He is angry, but in a dubious kind of way.

Damian shakes his head, and Bruce’s vision roams over him. Damian's shirt is rumpled and slightly untucked, and his neck is covered with splotchy red marks. Bruce has an aversion to the sight, and Damian notices where he’s glimpsing, lifting a hand to cover his throat.

“We can talk about this more some other time.” He doesn’t know what he dislikes more, that Dick is with Damian, or that Damian is with Dick. He wrinkles his eyebrows. 

“Tell Dick I will want to speak with him, as well.”

Damian nods, dismissed.

He shuts the door and realizes his hand is still covering his throat. Dick comes out from around the corner and grabs him, kissing him and licking into his mouth.

Damian pushes him off— they’re in the hallway, still in front of the door.

“Grayson,” he chides, shoving him down the hall. “Sneaking around?”

“I was curious.” Dick looks over at him, grabbing his hand. “He’s not as mad as I assumed he’d be.”

“He said he wants to speak to you later. Do you think you’ll be punished?” Damian jibes. “Maybe he’ll ground you.” Damian places his hand on the door, glancing at him. “Maybe he’ll ban you from patrol.”

“You’re such a little bitch,” Dick shoves him against his bedroom door, opening it and placing them on the other side. “I heard what you said, you know.”

“What are you referring to?” Damian doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You love me,” he kisses his neck. “Bold claims, Dami.” Damian flushes, lifting his hands to Dick’s body.

“Get off.” 

“No way. Can you say it again?”

“No way,” Damian imitates his voice. Dick slides his leg up in between Damian’s. He kisses him, fastening his mouth against his, his leg rubbing up. 

“Say it again?”

“I’m _never_ going to say it again.” 

Dick sucks on his neck, nibbling on the skin. He pushes his leg harder into Damian. 

“Please?” Damian looks away, embarrassed. He maneuvers Dick up to him, placing his mouth on his. 

_Fine._ It’s sort of like dirty talk. Damian pushes him away and rams him onto the bed, straddling him. “I love you.”

Dick grabs his hips, his hands slipping under his shirt, untucking it and caressing the bareness above his pants. 

“I love you so, so much, Richard,” Damian gazes into his eyes, intensity glowing in them. Dick grinds up toward him, making a pleased sound.

“Fuck. That sounds even more amazing than I thought it would.” He sits up, his fingers reaching to the buttons of Damian’s shirt, unlatching them. He runs his hands up the newly uncovered skin. 

“Again?” He smiles against Damian’s shoulder.

“No. That was the last time you’ll ever hear it.” Dick groans, pulling Damian over him.

He’ll _definitely_ make him say it again.


End file.
